Continuation of Chap 11

Seven years later, Mercedes is still trying to navigate her life as royalty.

My father caught me outside of his office. "We have to talk." He grumbled as I hurried past him. "Mercedes, this is important," he called after me.

I looked back at him, but my feet continued to move. "I understand, but I need a moment." I wasn't slowed down by the stairway, repeatedly skipping steps. I reached the entrance just in time to see my daughter, Whitney, rush through the door and into her father's arms.

I repeatedly explained to my child that my job was important. In her first six years of life, I had missed so many of her milestones because I was too busy. It pained me to know that she had better memories with her father than she did with me. I could never regain those moments, but I couldn't pass up the chance to see her return home from school.

The six year old sat in her father's embrace, rambling off details of her day. She didn't bother to glance in my direction until I was within a step of them. She waved at me before continuing to talk. When she did welcome me into the conversation, it was the most uncomforting topic. "There's a girl in my class that has twelve brothers and sisters, and I don't have any." She looked to me for an answer.

I avoided eye contact with her father. "Well," I huffed, thinking of an appropriate answer for a kid. I reached out to brush her coal colored coils. "You're so special that we only need one."

He bounced her. "You have plenty of cousins, and we can see them this weekend if you want," he offered, earning an eager nod. "Now, let's go find that cake we were talking about this morning."

"Tank." I grabbed at the side of his shirt; the most physical contact he's gotten out of me in weeks. I released him when I had his attention. "Supper is being prepared," I reasoned. I didn't want her to spoil her appetite with sweets. I gave my word, but Tank continued forward as if I said nothing.

That was the moment, for that day, that reminded me that I still lived in a prison.

I was free once. I left my title to live without heavy responsibilities. I had a taste of it, and after seven months, I only felt guilty. I returned home, and followed every order I was given; I married the man my father chose, had a child, and prepared to become queen. I gave up my chance at individualism to live by the motto "Do as you're told, and everything will be alright."

I took a deep breath as I gathered myself. "Mr. Evans," I called as I turned. I focused down at his pale hand as it slid into mine. "Thank you for watching over my daughter." I personally chose Mr. Evans to oversee the route to school.

Evans took his job seriously and knew how precious my child was to me. He's always had my trust. "My pleasure," he responded. He was released to continue his guard activities, and I met with my father.

The royals had a large role in what was put out in the news. Not a single article about my family could be published without my father's signature. He read all, from well informed stories to the crazy gossip, but he was hardly ever surprised.

I flipped through the pages my father passed to me. My face remained still as I saw picture after picture of my husband with another woman. "What do you expect me to do about this?" I asked my father.

That wasn't Tank's first affair, and I didn't expect it to be his last. He always went after maids, cooks: women that were easy access. He even tried it on with my assistant, but she valued her job. At least my employees kept their secret, unlike the women he chose back in his home country.

Disappointed by my attitude, my father shook his head as he sunk back into his seat. "I've told you to tighten your grip on him." Except for the lines around his eyes, he carried his worries well. He thought bigger than I did. He controlled printed news, but we couldn't stop the whispers on the street; there would be nothing to talk about if it never happened. He refused to let anything tarnish our image. "You've allowed this."

"To condone his actions, I'd have to care for him." I had a list of things to do. I didn't want to waste much air going back and forth over Tank. I challenged, "You're a man. What do you suggest I do? What are the magic words that I can say to make Tank behave?"

For some reason, he believed that I'd do anything to straighten my husband out. "Marriage is 50-50, and you're both entitled to the same, true?" he hinted, and if I wasn't seated, his words could have knocked me off my feet. "Men like Tank never suspect that a woman can reach their level, even if she has to sink down."

"I'm your daughter, and you're telling me to pluck a random man off the street and give myself to him!"

"You are my daughter, and I know that you're better than any man off the street." He reminded me, "You're leaving for the summit tomorrow."

A large group of world leaders were meeting in France that year. 195 countries in the world, and most were headed by men. Most of the crotchety old men were sending sharper representatives. One thing about men in power is that their moral compasses are a little off kilter.

I wanted to attend the conference to show that I could be taken seriously as a queen, and my father wanted me to use the opportunity as a hunting ground for a quick affair. "I can't believe you." I couldn't think of more words to say. Looking into his eyes turned my stomach. I exited the room, nauseated by the conversation.

I wasn't scheduled to leave for the airport until noon, but my days always started early. Instead of heading straight into my office, that morning, I decided to take the time to dress Whitney for school. I wasn't going to see her for the rest of the week; her father would have swept her away by the time I landed back home. I thought it would lessen the time I would spend missing her.

Tank had beat me to the laundry room. He was enjoying his alone time with the stylist. His fingers brushed down her arm as he leaned close to whisper in her ear. Listening to her giggle, he knew he had her hooked like the other women before; I hated that I was one. When I pushed the door wider, his smug smirk dropped. Stepping back, he protested, "We were going over what to pack for the weekend."

"I'm sure you were." I wasn't a fool. I ignored what I had seen and announced the reason I was there. When I was given the pressed uniform, I left the room with Tank on my heels.

He extended an invitation to join him on the trip to his homeland.

After the display that I had witnessed, I didn't have a drop of kindness for him. "Why would I go anywhere with you, and of all the places, there. The way your people treat me, speak about me, it's disgusting. I would never go back there," and I dared to add, "even if your life depended on it."

Of all of their princes' wives, I was the least popular. To his people, I was the bratty princess that left their beloved prince at the altar to do things that only God knows. His country had the same rule where the royal family had power in what was said about them, but I was fair game. It seemed like Tank never tried to fight against all the rude comments made against me.

I decided that my mental health would be best protected if I tried to ignore everything that came out of that country, even if one example was marching around my home.

After getting dressed, Whitney sat at the vanity so I could comb her hair. "You didn't have to help," she offered. "I know you're busy." She twisted and stretched the fabric headband.

I frowned as I remembered the day that I sat in the exact same spot as my daughter and asked my mother why my father didn't have time for me. I was told that he was trying and one day I'd understand. Sadly, I finally did, and all I could do was tell my daughter the same.

Whitney truly shined when she talked about school. Her favorite class was music. She wasn't looking forward to learning a new language. She had a tier list of all the books she's read. She only got to see her best friend at recess because they were in different classes that year. If she could, she'd make all classes fun as year one.

"We are just alike," I grinned. Although I was homeschooled, I felt the exact same about my lessons when I was her age. The highlight of my day was having a break where I could play with Miles; Malcolm was always studying.

She froze and looked at me as if I had slapped her in the face. "No, I'm happy," she argued. She was asked where she got the idea that I was unhappy. "Daddy says so. He said that you are never happy."

I expected that from him. I ensured, "I'm happy." I wasn't as happy as I could be. Finishing her hairstyle, I admired her reflection. "You are so beautiful. If you weren't a princess, you'd be a great moviestar."

Before she could respond, my assistant entered the room. "You have a phone call," she announced, holding out the cellphone. She insisted that it couldn't wait.

I ran out of free time. I kissed my daughter's cheek and released her to go down for breakfast. I was tied up with phone calls, memos and a little busywork until it was time to leave for France.

The things we spoke about in the meeting didn't scare me as much as the man that was outside of my room at night. I would attend the summit, have a meal with a few other leaders and then close myself in for the night. "You can order dinner to the room. You can have whatever you like" was all I could collect myself to say to Mr. Evans before leaving him to have the rest of the suite to himself.

Seven years, I gave him the driest conversations, but on the last night in France, I knew it was time for a change. After returning to the suite, I stood and watched as he focused on disarming for the night. "You can't run. Don't run away," I warned myself. I announced, "I thought Puck was accompanying me for this journey." I offered a smile to soften the comment in case I offended him.

"Well," he lowly started. He kept his body turned away from me until he was sure that his firearm was safely placed aside. "Considering the last time you two were alone, you went missing for months, I think we made the best decision by switching duties."

Fair.

He sat down, but when I followed, he scooted away. "Do you know how worried your father was? Seven months? That time was just irresponsible," he scolded. He wasn't Sam. He was Mr. Evans, respectable, strait-laced, professional. He was my protector.

"Please, don't lecture me." I believed that I had made up for walking off, and I had been following my father's orders since I returned: an idea of a mistake-free lifestyle. I was tired of being reprimanded and apologizing for what I did seven years ago. Just because Mr. Evans didn't get his turn, didn't mean that I would accept it. "I miss talking to you. I miss having someone that cares… but if you can't turn off your 'Head of Security' switch, I'll go to my room." I didn't want to.

With a few deep breaths, he melted into the furniture. "Where did you go?" His eyes opened, and the alter that I adored was shining through. He was ready to listen and give me the wisest words in response.

"The coast." Finally, I had the opportunity to share my stories with someone other than Puck. I took hours of his time and didn't withhold details. I talked about the sights, the village people and the stress of working an everyday job; waitressing wasn't as complex as being a queen, but it was consuming. "Most nights, I would sit on the beach and think about how simple my life was, even before I ran off. I would sacrifice so much for a day with my brother… oh, and shoe shopping," I added, making the man laugh.

"You don't realize that you were having the time of your life until you're at the end."

"Well put," I agreed as my thumb began to massage at the back of his hand. At some point, in my excitement, I had taken his hand, and he hadn't bothered to free himself. I nudged and smiled, "I've talked enough. Tell me how you've been. How's your family?"

The Evanses were all getting by greatly. His parents had celebrated another anniversary. His brother and sister, who were just high schoolers when we last talked, were professionals in their careers. They continued to thrive as the family grew to accept a new member.

Sam met his bride-to-be while outing with Puck on one of their breaks from work. She was a blonde haired and blue eyed nurse. He compared her to the sun over our country: always shining. After giving her years of his life, living together wasn't enough. He proposed over a peaceful indoor picnic; I'm sure he would have gone bigger if his job allowed it. Although they haven't chosen a wedding date, he knew he was blessed.

I found a smile and praised, "Um, congratulations."

"She's a big fan of yours." He laughed, "Every day she asks, 'What did the princess do today? What did she wear?' If I have to hear 'I want our marriage to be as perfect as theirs', I'll scream my lungs out."

My heart dropped into my stomach. I chose to ignore negative comments about my marriage, but I didn't know that our act was ideal to most people- my people. "Why wouldn't you correct her." I hung my head. "If you truly think that I'm happy, then you don't know me at all."

No employee knew the depths of our secrets, but they knew our marriage was odd.

Sam, hopeful and innocent, had to argue. "Every relationship has its rough patches. There were days where everything my dad said irritated my mom, and days later, they were kissing and dancing." His body deflated as he realized that he couldn't sell me his ideas of marriage. He knew the word 'perfect' was an exaggeration for any couple, but he asked, "Do you love him?"

"It's complicated."

"Nothing complicated about it. Yes or no?"

"Yes… If that's what you want to hear, then I do." I lifted my head, but I couldn't look into his emerald eyes. "No one wants to hear a story that ends with 'and they lived unhappily ever after.' Tank is my husband, and I wouldn't allow my first child to be made out of anything but love. We used to adore each other. We were devoted.

"Now, our love for each other is twisted, thin. We don't need each other, and the realization came so suddenly but simultaneously. We only really speak when we're in front of crowds… giving fantasies to sweet girls like yours." I softly squeeze his hand and plead, "Give her everything, but don't let your marriage be like mine."

Some hearts understand each other, and the most meaningful things are found through silence.

Noticing that it was past midnight, he warned me that it was time to start preparing to settle down for the night. "Goodnight, Mercedes." He reminded me of my departure time and sat back with the expectation that I would leave without a word.

I pulled him into my arms and buried my face into his collar. I breathed in his warmth as he returned the embrace. With a husband that showed me no respect and a daughter that was as confused as I was, I cherished the few people that made me feel like I mattered. "Thank you," I whispered before letting him go. After talking to a friend, I felt happier than I would have been if I was looking at Heaven's gates.

Although I tried to move away, Sam continued to hold me. I used the little space he allowed between us to look him over; seven years hadn't touched his face. I was sure that I would never get the chance to be that close again. With every beautiful curve and line memorized, I smiled, "I hope you have pleasant dreams." I could only guess that Sam too was taking time to process my looks, my new haircut and mature style of makeup, but he needed more time than I could give. I softly unwrapped his arms from my waist and stood.

I prepared a relaxing bath, and after stripping, I turned to the mirror and noticed a glow that I had been missing for years. With my mind cleared of my heavy problems, I was able to smile. I was slow to tear myself away from my reflection and begin my self pampering. I sunk into the warm water, breathed in the scented oils and faded into a world of peace.

"Tat-tat-tat." The gentle taps at the bathroom door interrupted my silence. The door opened, and Sam slid into the room.

Our eyes locked, and again, our silence spoke of everything. I sat up as he strolled across the room at a pace opposite of my heartbeat. He kneeled beside the tub, and I reached out to him. Our lips were drawn together and finally parted only to let our tongues pass to savior a long forgotten taste.

His hand creeped over the wall of the tub, into my water and between my parted leg. Sam's fingers passed the folds of my womanhood to find my clit. Even his lightest touch made my mind reel in sensation. He began to circle my fleshy pearl, and steady with his slow pace, he teased me into wanting more.

My head dropped back, and my lover began to trail kisses along my neck. My hips rolled against his fingers, splashing his folded cuffs. I managed huffs of air as silent pleas to be touched deeper. Too lust filled, I had nothing on my mind but how to have more of the gorgeous blond beside me. "I need you now," I cried. "Please, don't make me wait any longer."

I felt my blood rush when he abandoned me. The fingers of my right hand fell to comfort the heat between my legs, and my left massaged my stiffened nipple. My eyes were locked on him as he undressed, but my attention was needed in too many areas: his electrifying eyes, his plump lips that he was nibbling into to hide a greedy smile, his toned muscles and his large penis that stood proud at the chance to reclaim me.

He raised one of my legs over the rim of the tub to make room for himself between my thighs. His penis slowly sunk into me as the warmth of our bodies made us moan simultaneously. "I've thought about this moment for years," he whispered into my ear.

"Me too."

As my core squeezed him, his hips began to hammer into my arched body, pushing his penis deeper and causing his pelvis to rock against my clit. The gentle splishing and splashing of the water, added fuel to his movements.

My hips bucked back at his, sending small waves over the sides of the tub. I was overtaken by tingles that traveled deeper than my skin and into every nook of my existence. Every little hair on my body strained against the water to stand straight. My breath hung in my throat as if I was drowning in us. Again and again, I was thrown into an intense orgasm that could only be caused by Sam.

"Cumming. Mercedes, I'm going to cum," he announced with heavy breaths.

"Don't go," I pleaded, hugging him tighter. I wasn't ready to let him go. Before another word could be said, I felt his warm and sticky ejaculate.

We rested in each other's arms until the water slowed to a soft teetering wave, and then we moved to my bed. We had escaped feather and further into a palace of lust. Years later, our passion still seemed so magical. Again we were just a man and a woman whose body cried out for each other.

But the veil of "professionalism" was doomed to fall back down, and I hoped not to be crushed by its weight again.

I snuggled close to Sam. As my fingers drew shapes into his chest, my eyes were fixed on my gold ring that glimmered in the sunrise. Thinking out loud, I asked, "Why do you love me?" I wanted an answer, but my mind jumped to another thought before he could speak. "What if I wasn't Princess Mercedes? If I was just Mercedes, a waitress on the East Coast, would you have even given me a second look?"

If we didn't have the obstacles created by our roles and employment, would he have seen me as his forever?

He shifted under me. Although it seemed easiest to say yes or no, Sam refused. He wasn't in the mindset for hypotheticals. "We are who we are, and-"

"What we want and what we can do are not the same. I should be realistic," I warned myself. I sat up and slid to the bed's edge. I reached out for my gown because the room had suddenly turned cold. Over my shoulder, I declared, "We should prepare for the day… I have to get you home to your sun." I wasn't purposefully being malicious, but the sourness spilled so easily from my lips. I had missed the chance to be with an amazing man.

Sam deserved love, and it was smart of any woman to take him for herself.

I was only upset with myself. All my faults were rushing to me. My biggest grievance was that I chose to have the life that I had because I didn't fight to have it any differently. I had to ask myself if I had ever fought for what I wanted. I would negotiate and settle for what was closest to what someone else wanted of me. When my life became too unbearable, I ran, and even then, I couldn't remain firm with my decision. I returned home and started to give others pieces of myself without many words of disagreement.

Sam pulled me back to lie across his lap and in his warm arms. He promised, "She is my sun, but you're my moon." No, it didn't sound flattering at first, but Sam had a poetic idea of explaining. "... Phases. There are days where I don't see you, and I have to control myself not to hunt over the entire property for you. When I do see you, everyone around seems so small because you burn so bright."

But the only star that could outshine the moon was the sun.

If I could have shown him the love that he deserved, then he wouldn't have found a woman that treated his love like it was the most precious thing in the world. He admitted that he loved us because, although my time was darker, we both rose regardless. "I've told you how strong you are, and I wished that you had kept that in mind through the years." He encouraged, "Be easier on yourself." He gave me a tight squeeze, confident that he wouldn't get the chance again.

I returned to a home only occupied by my father. I refused to speak to him or review the topics from the summit. I didn't feel lonely because my work kept me company. I was comfortably distracted in my office for the weekend, and I only pulled myself out when my family returned. I took my daughter's small hand, turned a cold shoulder to her father and led her away as she started her childish chatter.

That Tuesday, Tank and I were invited to attend a film festival. The royal couple would be walking amongst indie actors. Most believed that we were slumming, but we both agree that art should be appreciated. It seemed like a good outing. We'd take a few photos and then give all our attention to a screen, not one another.

I stared forward at the curtain that divided the car. I could only imagine the road ahead because Tank always preferred the partition closed and blocking the view of the driver and guard in front. I took a deep breath before sharing an idea with my husband. "I want another child." From the corner of my eye, I waited for my husband's reaction.

He didn't look up from his phone as he asked, "Why?"

"I loved my brothers. You love yours. Wouldn't you want that for Whitney?"

He slowly nodded and huffed, "Sure." He looked at me with a wooden expression. "Maybe I wouldn't have to care for this child alone."

I refused to sacrifice my calm to him- not to a simple jab like that one. "You can't argue that if you're not able to carry a child for nine months and breastfeed." I would rebuild my relationship with my daughter, and with my new child, I would put my foot down and never miss their events of growing up.

His jaw tightened at my statement. He turned in his seat until his body faced me. "You never stopped working during your pregnancy. The doctor took you off of your feet, and your new desk was my side of the bed. You breastfed? No, you pumped and went on with your day. 'I'm going to be queen one day' is not an excuse to ignore your family. Now, you say that you want to be there for our children, but I know you, Mercedes." He dared, "Prove me wrong."

"I will." I wanted to say more, but I froze as Tank's cellphone jingled with a new message. Only in my fantasies would I snatch the phone and pitch it out of the window. I sunk into my seat to silently watch his fingers gliding over the screen. I choked out a murmur, "How many?" My fingers twisted at the dark fabric of my gown.

Missing the subject change, he answered, "One." He wanted a family larger than two kids. "And if you fulfill your promise to help me, then we'll plan another. Three, all the children you wanted."

I corrected, "I meant women. How many women have you gone to bed with?"

My husband flashed his phone at me and admitted, "I'm emailing a charity for-"

"That's not what I asked."

Flirting could be considered a daily exercise for him. He turned his charm on at will and proved that he could win over any woman he wanted. He would string them along, but how often did he give them more than just sweet nothings? Of course, he kissed other women, but it was sex that could put me in an embarrassing position.

My volume lifted and my tone cleared. "In our seven years of marriage, how many people have you been with?" The longer he took to answer, I believed that he was thinking of his lie. I vowed, "Respect me with the truth, and I will do the same in return."

He lowered the phone but continued to look at the empty space. "Four," he softly shared, leading in a long silence.

I believed his answer and returned the honesty. "I've been with only one other." I wasn't sharing my infidelity to attack Tank's self esteem; his first affair did that to me. I wasn't thinking about my father's plan to control my husband. I had questions. "Is it fair to assume that you loved at least one? What makes her good enough to call every night but not enough to be the one you slept beside? What words were in your head when you looked into their eyes and remembered that you couldn't be with them every minute of every day? How deep did the crack in your heart go when you remembered that I'm the only woman that has your future?" I didn't care who he was with or how long his affairs were. I wanted to know how to disconnect and stop loving someone who I couldn't have.

Silence.

The car stopped and the door opened to a red carpet. Cameras began to flash as we crawled out of the car. The crowd applauded as we stood with smiles and hands connected- the only angle they would ever know.

Thank you for reading. I couldn't let this prompt go without a part 2.

I know I've been gone for a long time. I've been struggling with ideas and trying to make the smut different. "WRITE SMUT" is written over my notes for ALL my stories, and I'm giving y'all a break from Samcedes darkness. Keep being patient with me, and I promise I won't be gone for another two years. Thank you! :)